Fellows of Fortune and Fame
by Reno a la Turk
Summary: Ferrying passengers, transporting shipments and of course pirating, a rather interesting group of Tigers and their ship "Celestial Fortune". [The pirate fic is rated ARRRRRRRR. for violence and piracy. Arr.]


            "It's coming..."

            The scarlet eyes narrowed, seemingly upon the spoken words themselves.

            "What d'ya mean 'it's coming,' ya cryptic stalker?"

            "Take softer tones with me..." the voice warned, the misting fog refracting the light upon the dull sapphire of his cheeks.

            "I'll take softer tones when I'm sure you're not goin' in circles t'watch m'chase m'tail." the second retorted, the same light glinting from bared fangs.

            "It's coming..."

            "Ya said that!"

            "You will pay and it will come..."

            Before she could stop it, the figure was gone, a sharp slash of his blade causing her to falter just long enough for it to disappear.  She cursed softly, spitting on the ground where he had been.

            "What did he mean, do you think...?"

            The crimson eyes softened, slowly drawing away from their slitted gaze to a more almond shape.  The light was warmer now, albeit the same that was so harsh still.

            "I told ya not t'follow me..." she whispered, still watching the light from the lanterns break through the fog to shine upon the accented gold.

            "I...  I didn't want to be left alone..." the reply came, barely audible between the two of them.  The red-eyed host sighed softly, closing the space with an outstretched claw.

            "Let's go back t'the tavern, then.  Don't worry 'bout anything.  I'll take care o' you."

            Midnight passed roughly for Celeste, such as it often did when she escaped to find Him.  She dared not to speak of who He was to anyone, though how it pained her sometimes to keep it that way.  She finally stood, leaning back on her haunches to straighten her spine, and walked to the window.  With practiced skill, she sat back again, slowly rising to a near seven feet tall.  Her muscles twitched beneath her sable fur, still not fully ready to shed their usual support.  Her claws folded neatly upon the windowsill and with a brief nudge of her nose, the shutters opened.

            Night was upon the port in Torble and the streets were just as murky as they had been hours ago.  The Terror Dog often walked them for a reason or two, only her crimson eyes distinguishing her from another passing shadow that never was.  Nights like tonight however...

            She shivered at the thought, how close she had been to her companion meeting Him.  What would happen if she had been moments earlier, crossing the threshold in time to see and not only hear his baleful hisses?  Fear spoke first, sending another tremor down the length of her back, shaking even the tip of her tail, as it replied, "He is the Messenger of Death."

            Part of her never listened to that nonsense.  After all, she'd spoken with Him for almost two years now, never once finding Him first.  He was always there with His own agenda and never she there with hers.  Nevertheless, if the rumours were true...

            Paranoid to a slight panic, Celeste turned, nearly losing her grip on the sill as she did, her crimson eyes sorting out the room, looking for her companion.  Rewarded, the Balon was curled up on the bed still, her back rising and falling in a slumbering rhythm.

            "Stop bein' daft..." the Terror Dog cursed herself, shaking her unhampered mane of jet locks.  It was late, her mind reasoned, and you are just being paranoid.  That's what it was, after all.  Just night and just Torble, not something demonic, not something horrid that she could not bear to imagine.

            With that, the lupine jumped from the sill, her foreclaws clicking on the battered wooden floor.  She made her way to the bed, resting her chin upon it momentarily, inhaling the smells of all the previous residents, the Balon still peaceful there, and then the strongest, her own.  It smelled sickly and of fear and apprehension.  Disgusted beyond fear, Celeste left the bed, curling up on the rug before the door.  Sleep evaded her every pounce until, as the first pinks of morning crossed the water, her eyes drifted shut in a fitful half-rest.


End file.
